


your voice in my head (can't get it out)

by awkwardspiritanimals



Series: a better communication [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mind Reader!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:44:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardspiritanimals/pseuds/awkwardspiritanimals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Cough right now if you’re a mind reader,' Jemma thinks, smiling to herself at her own joke, because even if there was scientific evidence that people with mind-reading capabilities existed, she figures that the odds of any one of them sitting within range of her in the Sci-Tech Academy library are astronomically small and pretty much statistically insignificant.</p><p>Fitz coughs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your voice in my head (can't get it out)

He wonders how, exactly, you are supposed to tell your best friend that you’re a mind reader. Fitz has never had this problem before, the best friend part or the telling anyone part.

Years ago, when he was still trying to figure out how to control it, to shut people’s thoughts out of his head, his mother had made him promise never to tell anyone, afraid of what would happen to him. And he’s never exactly had many friends, between generally being years younger than everyone around him and being able to hear their feelings about him when they were strong enough to break through his mental walls. So he blocked out everyone’s thoughts and went about his life.

It’s been a long time since he’s had any trouble keeping people out of his head, since before he’d left for university, but it’s been six months now and he still hasn’t managed to block out Jemma Simmons’ thoughts. He’s tried every trick he has and nothing has worked, not even distance. Most people fade completely when he’s more than twenty feet from them, but even when he knows they’re across campus from each other, he can still hear her thoughts at the back of his mind, softer but absolutely present.

At first he’d tried to stay away from her, because hearing others had always felt like a massive invasion of privacy and he feels bad about his inability to block her out, but that hadn’t lasted long. For one, he couldn’t avoid her in classes or labs, and for another, this had apparently made her think he didn’t like her, which wasn’t true in the slightest. He’s actually sort of fascinated by her and the way she thinks, and she’s the only person even close to his age at the Academy and yet is clearly the smartest person here.

So one day he’d approached her in the library and asked for her help on a project he was working on, a non-lethal gun, and then panicked momentarily when he’d wondered if he’d only ever heard her thoughts on the fact that she was an expert at neurotoxins and thus shouldn’t actually know that. But she’d responded enthusiastically and his worry had faded almost immediately. He’d gotten used to it now, having her by his side and her voice in his head.

And Fitz has always intended to tell her, really. Even with his promise to his mum, he figures that Simmons deserves to know because he can’t block her out and he’s not sure he really wants to anymore. But it’s been six months now, and he isn’t sure how you’re supposed to tell someone that you’ve been listening to their thoughts for half a year and you have no idea how to stop.

“Fitz?” Simmons says, and he looks up from his book sharply, “Sorry, you just looked like you were deep in thought.”

“It’s nothing. Mind just drifted, sorry.” There had been a time, before they were friends and when he’d been trying to come up with something to say to her, that he had considered telling her because he thought it might impress her sufficiently enough that she would deem him worthy of her time. Now he can’t believe he ever thought about telling her so flippantly.

——————-

Fitz has been doing that a lot lately, going strangely silent, looking at her like he’s about to say something, before assuring her it’s nothing and going back to his work. Jemma studies him, trying to figure out what’s bothering him.

He’s really rather nice-looking, her best friend, and the light from the setting sun coming through the window next to their table makes his jawline sharper as he tilts his head to study his notes, attempting to decipher his own handwriting. Jemma thinks, fleetingly, that it would be quite pleasant to press her lips against the skin there, the spot underneath his ear, along his jaw and down his neck to the hollow of his throat, and even more pleasant to have him return the favor. She blushes, just slightly, at thinking these things about her best friend while studying in the library, but it’s not like anyone can tell.

 _Cough right now if you’re a mind reader_ , Jemma thinks, smiling to herself at her own joke, because even if there was scientific evidence that people with mind-reading capabilities existed, she figures that the odds of any one of them sitting within range of her in the Sci-Tech Academy library are astronomically small and pretty much statistically insignificant.

Fitz coughs.

—————

He’s so distracted by the image of them she’s created that he follows her instruction without thinking, and then scrambles to grab his tea when her eyes widen slightly.

“Sorry,” Fitz says, after a long drink, “Some air must have gone down the wrong pipe.” He coughs a few more times, and Jemma’s look of shock has transformed into one of suspicion, and he glances at his watch for something to do with his eyes.

“What did you get for the extra credit on Miller’s assignment?” he asks, slightly desperate, figuring that if homework doesn’t distract her, nothing will. She continues to stare at him for a few seconds before she starts to shuffle through her papers, and Fitz breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He’s trying to get up the courage to tell her, sure, but he’s almost certain that this isn’t how he wants it to happen, especially since he can’t quite shake the image Simmons had imagined before he’d coughed.

She keeps casting looks at him as they work, and he can hear her trying to figure things out in her head, but she doesn’t actually say anything, and he manages to escape to his room an hour later. He lays on his bed, trying and failing to block out the murmur of her voice in his head.

——————-

It can’t be a coincidence. She doesn’t really believe in coincidences, and this definitely can’t be one. He’d coughed right after she’d thought it, _and_ he’d blushed, like maybe, in addition to hearing her joke, he’d known what she was thinking about right before that. Jemma blushes herself at that, before setting her mind back to the task at hand.

She’d suspected there was something different about him for months; they were _too_ in-sync at times, and sometimes he seemed much more aware of her moods than he was of anyone else’s, or anything else for that matter. She wonders how his powers work, and she plans on asking him as soon as she can get him to actually admit it, which is where the problem lies.

Except maybe not, Jemma thinks, as she recalls his blush earlier. Maybe more can be accomplished than just getting to him to admit that he can read minds. The next morning, when Fitz arrives at their usual table in the dining hall with his cereal, still looking half asleep, she pictures them, her lips pressed against his, his hands in her hair. He nearly drops his bowl, a blush appearing high on his cheeks, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling.

This might be fun.

——————

The first two days, her thoughts are mostly just the two of them kissing in dark corners around campus, and while Fitz does wonder how she knows where quite so many of those are, he’s able to keep his face fairly neutral for the most part after the first few times, except for the slight blush he doesn’t have nearly as much control over as he’d like.

It’s actually not even an image that forces the first real reaction from him. In their lab on the third day after the incident in the library, Jemma’s voice sounds in his head: _He really does have a rather nice arse_. Fitz spins around, eyes wide, to find her staring at him. It takes a second for her eyes to come up to meet his, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was blushing.

“Did you need something, Fitz?” she asks, after clearing her throat. He stares for a few seconds before shaking his head and turning back to his work. That afternoon in class, her fantasy isn’t nearly as innocent as the previous ones, and Fitz has to hide the fact that he was barely able to take notes from her.

By the fourth day, she seems to have decided to imagine them _together_ in as many places as possible, hands tugging at clothing and running over bare skin, and Fitz has begun to actively avoid the places she knows best, because the details she manages in those particular thoughts are driving him more than a little crazy. For two days, the only time he spends in his room is to sleep, and he avoids her room entirely; of course Simmons, being rather bright, catches on to this, and when he asks if maybe they can sit somewhere other than their usual table in the library on the fifth day, because he’s lost all ability to concentrate there, she suggests with a smile that is all too knowing that they might be more comfortable in his room.

By the sixth night, she’s somehow managed to combine all the facets of his powers together, which has never happened before. Normally, the sound, images and feelings all come separately, so it's surprising and frustrating that at the same time she’s imagining them pressed together, his lips against her neck and her hands slipping beneath the waist of his trousers, he’s hearing gasps and moans and sighs, getting little shocks of pleasure down his spine. He presses his face against the couch cushions and groans, and Simmons looks up from her book. The fact that she’s imagining all of this while lying on his bed is not helping matters in the slightest.

“Something wrong?” she asks, and Fitz shakes his head, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Just a headache,” he lies.

“I think you’ve got some Advil here, if you want it.”

“No, that’s fine.” He’s not sure his legs will support his weight right now, and even if he could stand, at that point it would be painfully obvious that his groan hadn’t been caused by a headache. “I think I probably just need some sleep.”

“I can go, if you’re ready to go to bed. It is quite late.”

“You can stay.” He honestly doesn’t know why he makes the offer, except that it is late and his mother raised a gentleman. But really, he’s had enough trouble sleeping without her in the room, and this screams of being a bad idea. It’s too late to withdraw the offer now, and the way Simmons smiles at him makes him pretty sure he doesn’t want to.

This is, of course, before they settle down for the night and Fitz starts to catch glimpses of her dreams. He’s glad that dreams take on a hazy, blurry quality, because Simmons has even less of a filter when she’s asleep than she does while awake. He pulls his pillow from behind his head and presses it against his face, wondering if her ability to purposely torment him even in her sleep is connected to the fact that he can’t block her out, and resigning himself to a fairly sleepless night.

On Friday, the seventh day since the library, Simmons is actually fairly tame, just quick flashes of the two of them wrapped around each other in dark corners, grasping hands and wrinkled clothing, with the exception of one particular fantasy during their afternoon class that Fitz is pretty sure means he’ll never be able to look at the benches in the quad without blushing ever again. She’s in a good mood and it’s catching despite his exhaustion, and so he agrees to go to the Boiler Room that night with only a little complaining. Really, he’s hoping that the drinks and dancing and people will be a significant enough distraction that she won’t worry about torturing him.

This holds true for about a half hour until she starts back in. It’s not much at first, especially considering some of the things she’s dreamed up this week; holding hands and kissing on the couch he’s taken up residence on, pressed close together on the dance floor. He drops his walls slightly and hides behind the crowd noise, although he’s able to still  clearly see the things she’s thinking about. Fitz doesn’t realize that she’s setting him up until it’s too late; he’s relaxed, content to sit on his couch and drink his beer while trying to ignore the comparatively tame images Jemma is sending his way, when she drops the bomb.

The two of them, pressed against a wall in a section of the Boiler Room that Fitz, despite his lack of experience, knows is where couples go right before they head somewhere more private. Simmons’ lips are pressed against his neck and his hands are underneath her shirt. She moans, and he can almost feel the vibrations of it against his skin, outside of his head, and then her hand slips down the front of his jeans. Fitz shoots to his feet, looking for Simmons, spots her out on the dance floor, watching him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and stalks over to her.

“Come on,” he says, catching her hand and tugging on it.

“Where are we going?”

 “My room.”

“Why?” she asks, but the accompanying wave of happiness and hope that rolls through his brain gives away the fact that she already suspects the reason. _She does love winning_ , Fitz thinks as he continues to tug on her hand.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“And you can’t tell me here?”

“No, it needs to be in private.” Another surge of joy inside his head. They’re outside now, walking across campus, and he still hasn’t let go of her hand, tugging her along even though she’s following willingly.

When they reach his room, Fitz considers things for a few seconds before pulling out his desk chair and directing her to sit. Jemma stares at him as he backs up against the opposite wall and takes a deep breath.

“So I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ve never told anyone, because I promised my mum I wouldn’t, but I think you deserve to know, because you’re my best friend and also because of circumstances that I will tell you about in a minute, but you can’t tell anyone else and-”

“Fitz. Fitz!” she says, and he stops to take a breath, “You’re rambling.”

“Right, sorry. Nervous. Alright, here goes,” another deep breath, “I can read minds,” Jemma stares at him, and he forces himself to keep going, to keep eye contact with her, “and normally, I can block people out, but I can’t seem to figure out how to block you, no matter how hard I try. I figured it was only fair to tell you. And you’re my best friend, so I figure if I can trust anybody with this, it’s you.”

“Why the sudden confession?” she asks, but he can see that she’s clearly trying to bite back a smirk, so he just shrugs.

 _The confession is nice and all, but I expected one of us to be pinned against the door while it happened_. Her thought causes him to choke on whatever he was going to say next, and she looks at him oddly, “You alright, Fitz?”

“Yeah. You’re taking this rather, um, calmly.”

She shrugs, “I’ve suspected something about you for a while. I mean, not necessarily mind reader, but there was something different about you, once I got to know you. And after the incident in the library, well,” she shrugs again before tilting her head to observe him, “How does it work? I mean, what does _reading minds_ entail?”

“Well, um, I can hear thoughts, and see them, images, sometimes, and sometimes there’s, um, feelings, I guess, like happiness or anger? And dreams, but those are always kind of fuzzy. But I can block almost everyone out, except for particularly strong thoughts. And, well, you,” it’s Fitz’s turn to shrug, “I don’t know. I’ve been able to do it for as long as I can remember. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

Simmons nods, but she’s still looking at him expectantly. He rubs at his neck, trying to figure out what she wants from him, until she sighs and says, “Well, it’s late. I should probably get back to my room.”

Fitz glances at his watch. It’s late, and he knows that she had a few drinks while they were at the Boiler Room, and it’s Friday and he’s finally told her, so the offer seems safe enough, “You can stay here, if you want. Save yourself a walk.”

“Really?” For some reason, another wave of hope, not unlike the earlier ones, accompanies her question. He doesn’t know what to make of that.

“Yeah. I’m fine on the couch, and it’s not like we have to be up early tomorrow.”

The wave of hope dissipates almost as quickly as it had come, and he’s properly confused now. But he smiles at Simmons and she returns it, asking him if he’s got anything she can wear to sleep. They change silently, turning their backs to each other, and then crawl into their respective sleeping spots. It’s quiet for a while before Simmons speaks.

“Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For telling me. For trusting me.”

“You’re welcome. I would have told you sooner, but-”

“I understand.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“You’re welcome.”

They fall into silence again, and Fitz listens to her breathing even out before he relaxes himself. He’s just about to drift off when the first hazy dream image blooms in his brain, her hands clutching at his bare shoulders, and he turns his face into his pillow with a groan.

————-

It’s been three days since Fitz had admitted to her that he could read minds. Jemma thinks that she probably should have been more surprised by that, but she’d always suspected something about him, even if _mind reader_ had never been all that high up the list of possibilities prior to that day in the library, and of course she’d spent the week leading up to his confession watching him get more and more flustered as she’d imagined the two of them together in various rather intimate situations. By the time he’d finally cracked and told her, she’d only really been surprised because her best friend couldn’t seem to take a hint.

They’re lying on his bed now, Fitz with his shoulder pushed up against the wall, reading a beat-up paperback; she’s next to him, trying to look over her notes but mostly studying him. She’s cut down considerably on time spent imagining them together, figuring that he deserved a bit of a respite as a reward for finally fessing up, but she hasn’t stopped completely. He had to understand what she was getting at eventually, right?

It’s easy this time, lying next to him on his bed, to conjure up the image as she stares at him: straddling him, his t-shirt pushed up to reveal pale skin, her hips pressed down against him as they kiss. Next to her, the real Fitz closes his eyes and swallows hard; in her head, his hands disappear beneath her skirt. He tenses, and Jemma is surprised when he suddenly scrambles towards the end of the bed, almost throwing himself across the small space of his room to lean against the opposite wall, breathing hard.

“Can’t you control yourself, Simmons?” he asks, sounding torn between anger and sadness, “I already bloody told you!”

Puzzled, she sits up at the edge of his bed, “Told me what?”

“I told you I can read minds, and that I can’t block you out, but you haven’t stopped,” he says, head dropping towards his chest, “Why haven’t you stopped?”

Jemma studies him where he looks to be trying to hide against the wall, clearly aroused and clearly embarrassed, and it clicks, “You really think that’s the only reason I was doing it?”

Fitz’s head jerks up in surprise, “What other reason would you have to do it?”

She stares at him in disbelief for several moments, watching him shift uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes. Then, with as much force as she can muster, she thinks _come over here_. He’s four steps across the room before his expression changes, like he’s only just realizing that he’d moved in response to her thought. Jemma smiles, filing that information away for later, because right now he’s close enough for her to reach out and catch a handful of his shirt, tugging him forward so she can stretch up and press her lips against his. He makes a sound of surprise against her mouth, but a second later he’s pressing back and she brings her other hand up to wrap it around the back of his neck to keep him close.

“Only you, Leopold Fitz,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to speak before brushing her lips against his once more.

He looks stunned, a little breathless, but he composes himself enough to respond before leaning into her kiss again, “Only me what?”

“Only you could be able to literally read minds and yet not know when a girl wants you to kiss her.”

“Really?” he asks, and she gives him a disbelieving look, glancing down at his lips, “No, right, of course. I mean, I just didn’t- I just thought- I mean, I thought you were just trying to flush me out. I didn’t think you actually wanted to do any of the things you were thinking about with me. I thought it was just, you know, a tactic or whatever,” he’s biting his lip, looking unsure, “It seemed too good to be true.”

A thought occurs to her, and she loosens her grip on him, suddenly nervous, “Do you not want to kiss me?”

“No! I mean, no, it’s not that. I do. Want to kiss you, I mean. I just, um-,” he’s still looking down, not meeting her gaze, “I didn’t really think you’d ever want to kiss me.”

“Didn’t you say you could see my dreams, when I stayed over?” Jemma asks, ducking her head to try and catch his eyes, “Did you think I was controlling what I was dreaming about?”

Fitz shrugs, “Seemed more likely than you actually wanting to sleep with me.”

It’s her turn to stare in disbelief, just for a moment, because then she’s kissing him again, tugging him forward. Once he’s climbed up next to her on his bed, it’s easy enough to get him on his back, to slip one leg over his hips. Jemma is tempted to rush a little, to push his shirt up and guide his hands onto her body from where they’re resting at his sides, to recreate the image she’d just imagined, but the look on his face stops her.

“Simmons-”

“You should probably call me Jemma,” she says, leaning down to kiss him softly, resisting the urge to press down against him until she understands the shadow in his eyes. He’s looking up at her in clear disbelief, “What, Fitz?”

“It’s just- we don’t have to- you shouldn’t do anything you don’t- we don-” he stutters, until she cuts him off with the hard press of her lips against his.

“Ok, I’m really about to start doubting your claim that you can read minds.”

She kisses him again before he can say anything in reply, finally giving in to the desire to roll her hips against his and slip her hands underneath the hem of his t-shirt, spreading her fingers over the warm skin of his stomach. The stifled moan he makes against her mouth and the way his hands reach up to rest softly against her thighs seem to be answer enough.

—————

Jemma is curled up against his side, fingers of one hand tracing designs against his chest. Fitz is still sort of trying to wrap his head around everything that has just happened. He feels her turn her head to look up at him, and tilts his chin down to meet her gaze.

“Yeah?” he asks, unable to keep himself from smiling.

"You said that you can block most people out completely?”

“Yeah, for the most part. Sometimes particularly strong thoughts or feelings break through, but that’s pretty much the only time. You’re the only exception to that.”

“You can’t block out my thoughts at all?”

“I can sort of make them quieter, I guess, if I concentrate. But I can’t block them out completely, not even over big distances. Most people, if they’re further than twenty feet away, I can’t hear anything, but I can still hear you murmuring from across campus.”

Jemma smiles at him softly, “That’s oddly sweet,” she says, stretching up to kiss him, and he’s still sort of in shock that she feels free to do that now, or even that she wants to do it in the first place. She moves to cuddle back down against his shoulder before she stops to look back up at him.

“Does that mean- can you still hear me when we’re- I mean, can you still feel my thoughts during-?” she asks, and he blushes. He’s worried she’ll be embarrassed, but he figures that the only way this whole thing will work is if he’s honest with her.

“Yeah. There’s times when it sort of, um, I guess it sort of overloads, and I can’t really get anything, but most of the time, yes. I can still hear and feel you.”

Fitz waits for her to blush, to duck down against his shoulder, maybe even to leave, but she just looks at him with a smile and raised eyebrows, “Well, that could be fun.”

He stares at her as she cuddles back down into her shoulder, tugging the blanket higher up over them.

“Hey, Jemma?” Fitz asks, still trying to get used to calling her that, and she hums against his skin in response. It takes him a second to remember what he had wanted to ask, “Would you let me take you out on a date tomorrow night? Or, um, go out on a date with me? Is it sexist to say ‘take you out-” She cuts him off with her hand on his face, tracing down until she can get her fingers against his lips.

“Yes. I’d like that. Now sleep,” she says, and he smiles, reaching up to wrap his fingers around hers, pressing a kiss against them before bringing them back down to rest against his chest. Fitz can feel her thoughts softening, allows his to follow them, matches his breathing to hers, drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> So this AU was inspired by the tumblr post with the premise of someone thinking dirty/strange thoughts in public, and then thinking cough if you’re a mind reader and someone coughs. I did a little tag writing on there and then this AU sort of spiraled out of control very quickly.
> 
> There will probably be more in this universe, both more kind of light-hearted stuff and some heavier stuff, looking at how Fitz and Jemma deal with his powers in their relationship and how they deal with his powers on a bigger scale, especially once the team gets involved. I don’t know if this will happen in chronological order or I’ll jump around, but I know I plan to write more in this universe, as it’s quite fun.
> 
> The series title ‘a better communication’ comes from a letter from John Adams to his wife Abigail while John was in Philadelphia attending the Continental Congress: "But I want a better Communication. I want to hear you think, or to see your Thoughts." Because when I headcanon that Fitzsimmons are the reincarnated souls of John and Abigail Adams, I put that headcanon everywhere.


End file.
